


It's Going To Be A Long Summer

by MsBrooklyn



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Alternate Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-09-08
Updated: 2004-09-08
Packaged: 2019-02-05 17:18:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12798843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsBrooklyn/pseuds/MsBrooklyn
Summary: none





	It's Going To Be A Long Summer

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Haven, the archivist: This story was originally archived at [Fandom Haven Story Archive (FHSA)](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Fandom_Haven_Story_Archive), was scheduled to shut down at the end of 2016. To preserve the archive, I began working with the OTW to transfer the stories to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2017. If you are this creator and the work hasn't transferred to your AO3 account, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Fandom Haven Story Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/fhsa/profile).

"Get me out of here."

 

Ellen Feldman sighed wearily as she took in Fox Mulder's disheveled appearance. His usually-unruly brown hair was wild and that white hospital gown didn't make him look like the sanest man on the block. "I'll try."

 

"Try? There is no try. There is only do or do not." He folded his arms across his chest and the gown rode up about an inch. "I've gotta be outta here by Wednesday."

 

Was he calling her Yoda? "I may be short, but I'm not wrinkled and I still have all my hair!"

 

"Help me, Morley Wan Kenobi, you're my only hope."

 

"That makes me a Jedi Knight, Mulder. Truth. Why should I get you out? It's just 72 hours. The Phantom Menace'll still be here."

 

"I paid six hundred dollars for tickets." He gave her his most disarming grin. "Besides, you're the only one I can trust -"

 

"Even though I work for the smoker?" Ellen grinned wickedly. Would he notice if she lifted the hem of the hospital gown to sneak a peek? "With logic like that, Foxboy, it's no wonder they committed you. Again."

 

"I have not been committed!"

 

"According to your file, you're a potential danger to yourself." She shouldn't be having fun with this, but she was and he still had a nice @ss. But who put those claw marks on it? "You were hearing voices. Were you drilling holes in your head again?"

 

"Feldman!" Mulder slapped at her hand and backed away from her. "Drilling holes in my head is preferable to reading the stupid scripts for this show. Besides, I didn't drill the holes on my own. I was coerced. Emotionally coerced. Then again, I was emotionally coerced into doing this show."

 

"What show?"

 

"This one." Mulder tapped his foot impatiently. "The one where Scully just discovered the alien linoleum and the hot tubs of the Gods."

 

Great. He thought he was an actor and a Z-grade one at that. "If Ratboy drugged your water again, I'm gonna kill him."

 

"I keep telling you. It's not drugs. It's alien telepathy. It wouldn't be so bad if they didn't have all that static on the mental speaker phone."

 

Lawyers weren't supposed to groan when their clients said something stupid. She groaned anyway. "A minute ago it was that Von Danskin -"

 

"Daniken. And he's a crank."

 

"Riiiight." She nodded and uh-hummed sympathetically to show she was listening and believed him. One out of two wasn't bad. "And now it's telepathy? Like Aquaman used to use?"

 

"You'd think people that advanced would have better transmission than this," sighed Mulder, rubbing at his temples. "It sounds like AM radio in the mountains."

 

"Talk radio or music?"

 

"Talk and stop looking at me like I'm nuts. I'm not nuts. I hear voices---"

 

"In your head. Just like all the sane people do." And now for her most convincing argument, the one that would make him shut up so she could be on time for her appointment with her hairdresser. "Besides, if you're hearing voices in your head, how will you hear the movie?"

 

"Just get me out of here. Today. And don't come back without a pizza."

 

 

"Are you out of your mind?!"

 

"Ratboy!"

 

"Alex. My name is Alex. And I repeat, are you out of your ever-loving mind?" Green eyes flashed angrily as her leather-jacketed lover guided her down the hall into the men's room and locked the door. "He's in the bughouse because our employers wanted him here. Do you have any idea how pissed they'll be if you interfere?"

 

"If they didn't want me interfering, they would have blocked the call." There. That sounded logical. "I'm here because they want me here."

 

He thought that over. "Somebody wanted him here and I don't think it's smart for you to try to get him out."

 

"If you saw him, you wouldn't say that."

 

"Yes, I would."

 

"Ratboy!"

 

"Alex."

 

"Whatever." Ellen shook herself from his grasp. "I'm getting him out of here no matter what you say."

 

"You'll only do that if they want you to. Otherwise, he's here until they've made their point."

 

"You think I can still bring him a pizza?"

 

"Why me?"

 

 

This had to be Feldman's fault. Scully was certain of it. Even if it was Scully herself who agreed that they should take Mulder in for evaluation, Feldman was the reason Mulder was hearing voices in his head. Ten minutes of that whining little JAP was enough to drive anybody stark-raving bonkers. Temporary insanity of JAP etiology. Heaven only knew what prolonged exposure could do.

 

"Agent?"

 

She smiled sweetly at Assistant Director Skinner. "Sir?"

 

"I asked if whether you thought Agent Mulder's condition was permanent."

 

"We'll know more in 72 hours, sir."

 

Skinner blinked in surprise. "Don't you think a 72 hour hold is a little extreme?"

 

"It's standard and considering the nature of Agent Mulder's psychosis, it's for his own good." Yeah, a little Thorazine and Feldman-deprivation and he'd be as right as rain.

 

"Psychosis is an awfully strong word, don't you think, Agent Scully?" Diana Fowley glided into Skinner's office and perched delicately in the empty guest chair next to Scully. "Particularly since you aren't trained in psychology."

 

"I am a medical doctor -" As if she needed to be a doctor to diagnose somebody as bug-fu[k crazy when they were talking to the voices in their heads and inventing new Creation Theories of Human Development. Her garbageman could make THAT diagnosis.

 

"So you've told us. Frequently." Fowley smiled coldly. "I'm interested in hearing your diagnosis."

 

"I'll let you know when I have one," Scully snapped, getting to her feet. Oh, this had to be Feldman's fault!

 

 

"Did somebody order a pizza?"

 

That voice…it couldn't be…but it was. Mulder gritted his teeth and turned around. "Where's Feldman, Ratboy?"

 

"In a meeting. You wanted mushroom, right?"

 

"I thought she was going to get me out of here."

 

"I thought you were going to get her killed, so I told her not to try." Krycek kicked the door shut behind him and set the box of pizza down carefully. "Have some pizza before it gets cold."

 

"Feldman had a plan---"

 

"And it probably would have worked if she didn't work for the smoker." The one-armed assassin helped himself to a slice of pizza. "My kitten's a damned good lawyer. Unfortunately, she does work for the smoker and if she does something against his agenda, she could end up as landfill somewhere."

 

True enough. "What kind of meeting?"

 

"Huh?"

 

"You said she was in a meeting. About me?"

 

"Does it always have to be about you, Foxboy?"

 

Nice counter. "It usually is. Are you going to eat the whole pizza or are you going to get me out of here?"

 

Krycek finished his slice and wiped his hands on a paper napkin. "You seem to have missed my point. You're going to be here for the full 72 hours. But you've got pizza, so it's not all bad."

 

"What?!"

 

"You heard me."

 

"I heard you but I didn't like what I heard."

 

The triple - quadruple? -- agent frowned. "Isn't it obvious that they wanted you out of the way?"

 

Mulder gritted his teeth and put on his best puppy-dog look -- the one he stole from Feldman. "You've got to help me, Ratboy. 72 hours? It'll feel like ... " he hesitated, trying to make it sound as drastic as possible, "like months! It'll feel like six months! It'll feel like November before they let me back out!"

 

The poly-affiliated agent clucked in faux-sympathy and held out a piece of pizza. "Don't exaggerate. This is the safest place for you. Just stay put and let us find out what's going on."

 

"Ratboy -"

 

"Alex." The other man locked stares with him. "They're watching me because you called Feldman and she came running to help. If I break you out of here, we're all dead."

 

Mulder slumped disconsolately in the corner of his cell. "H3ll, I might as well BE dead."

 

Ratboy scooted over until his knees rubbed up against Mulder's. His face was solemn but it looked like he had to bite his cheeks to keep it that way. "It'll be okay, Foxboy. It's only 72 hours. Just stay here and talk to your invisible friends and I'll buy you new tickets and a bootleg copy of the movie all for your very own."

 

Mulder gritted his teeth. What would Feldman do in a situation like this? That's right. Bambi eyes. This was either going to look really good or really stupid. "Please. You don't understand. The voices ... they're reading bad dialogue from alien artifacts. If I don't get out of here and stop them I WILL go mad."

 

"Will? As in ‘you're not over the hills and through the woods nutso' already? And stop making Bambi eyes at me."

 

It was going to be a long 72 hours.

 

 

This was all Feldman's fault. She knew it. If the smoker hadn't been besotted with that damn pip-squeak pygmy lawyer the plan would have gone off without a hitch. Fox would be nice and safe in the padded room, Scully would be figuring out how bad movies caused adult onset schizophrenia and they'd have retrieved Sandoz and the alien doohickey without a hitch.

 

But now ...

 

Now Scully had found the hot tub. How much longer could the Speedos from the Stars be kept hidden? And the Agenda. Gawd help them if THAT got out. Now they had a major cover up to engineer and Diana Fowley knew who'd get stuck with the dirty work.

 

And it was ALL Feldman's fault.

 

 

This was all Foxboy's fault. Why else would she be subject to such torture? Hours of it. Her head throbbed, her vision was blurred and her butt, how her butt ached. Damn those cheap Consortium chairs. Damn Mulder! And damn George Lucas for making her have to figure out a way to get Mulder his six hundred bucks back.

 

"Are you paying attention, Ellen?"

 

She smiled at the smoker and lied through her teeth. "Of course I am."

 

"No, you weren't," he chided, blowing a thick cloud of smoke in her direction. "Explain to me again how you found out Mulder was incarcerated."

 

Think, Feldman. Think. Fast. Ahhh, perfect. "He called me."

 

"He's not allowed access to a phone."

 

Damn! "Somebody left me a video of him ranting and raving like a lunatic --- worse than usual, I mean."

 

"And you went to set him free?"

 

"Or to laugh at him."

 

"You mustn't interfere in our plans like that, dear girl. Agent Mulder doesn't like to take vacations so we make sure he gets his rest, even if we have to use Thorazine to do it." The smoker smiled pleasantly. "Every year, right around now, we have him temporarily committed. It's usually very easy to create enough evidence to convince Agent Scully or Mister Skinner that Mulder's finally lost his proverbial marbles."

 

"You'd think they'd have learned by now!" Then again, Scully actually thought people believed she was a real redhead.

 

Her boss beamed at her. "So you see, my dear, he needs his rest. In the meantime, we need to take care of Agent Scully."

 

"I'll need a team of experts."

 

"For what? You've managed to create a fairly steady stream of disinformation on your own."

 

"Oh. I thought you wanted to know what her real hair color is."

 

The smoker smiled nastily. "I already do."

 

Feldman tugged self-consciously on a curl, wondering if her hairdresser would take her back now that she'd missed her appointment. Last time he'd made her grovel. It was going to be a long meeting.

 

 

The FBI woman and her little buddy were gone. Albert Hosteen cautiously opened one eye and brushed the oregano and bean sprouts off his chest. One of his clan put down his drum and wrinkled his nose. "You smell like a salad."

 

"It is a good price. The Chia Pet Cure fools them every time."

 

A younger man grinned wickedly. "We could have used that pot like we did for that guy who fried himself in the desert."

 

Hosteen shook his head, scowling a warning. "No. And the pot is not to be used lightly. It is the gift of the Consortium and to be used only for emergencies. And parties."

 

"Don't be such a wet blanket." The first man stood, cracking his knuckles. "She bought it, just like Ratboy said she would. And that Sandoz guy paid us a ton just before the critics offed him."

 

"The oracle warned him not to take that role." Hosteen shook his head over the sad foolishness of character actors. "Minor characters always get snuffed."

 

"Doesn't matter." The youngest one scooped up a few egg things and headed for the sweat lodge door. "We got paid. Who'd have thought a chunk of linoleum carving from my kid's art class would be worth a year's pay?"

 

"So it is written," murmured Albert sententiously. "Kids say the darndest things in TV Shows Gone Bad."

 

It was going to be a long hiatus.

 

 

The End


End file.
